Valley under Fire

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Holbert removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose as the sunlight he was using for reading disappeared behind hewn, limestones cliffs. The cliffs rising either side of the train tracks was lined by large firs, plunging the carriage into a daylight darkness. With decent reading light gone, Holbert sighed and threw Emotional biochemistry in western dragons back into the table . He pulled out a cigarette and lighter from his vest pocket and lit up, taking a few quick puffs. The click-clack of the tracks ran underneath his feet, vibrating through Holbert’s body and making him realise how tense his shoulders were. He pushed his shoulders back into the cushioned seat, placed his glasses on and looked at the papers splayed across the booth’s table.

Draconic flight patterns, breeding cycles, chemistry of fire breathers, biosphere impacts, scale density – academic journals providing every answer to every question anyone could ever ask on these creatures except for two. Why are they in the Valley and how do we get them to leave? The two questions the Council had sent Holbert to solve.

Holbert leant forward on the table and pretended to read as the train wound through the artificial ravine, carved through the hill that divided the Valley from Rovelend proper. Looking around the carriage he observed some of the travellers that had boarded at the last stop. His carriage companions had all made conscious effort not to sit near him. The citizens of Rovelend didn’t trust the government or its agents, and Holbert with his aquatic blue three-piece suit, documents and fancy gadgets reeked of government. He didn’t necessarily blame them for the distrust. Lots of talk, little action, plenty of corruption and just a little too much taxes – not a lot to like about the council and those who do its bidding.

If he wasn’t going to read, Holbert figured he could see what could glean from his fellow travellers. What was bringing these people to a valley infested with dragons? A few didn’t look too dissimilar from him, likely merchants or business representatives seeking some form of opportunity in the Valley. A group of men dressed like him sat in a booth talking loudly. One with grease in his hair made a joke and the others laughed loudly, some slapping the table. The hilarious man was clearly the boss. Guessing from their expensive Jurtho watches, the occasional sip from a flask and the lack of any business-like decorum, Holbert assumed they were investors, for a bank or private firm. They were coming out here to purchase land holdings for their companies or seek involvement in some of the new mines – plenty of opportunities in the Valley.

Another group at the opposite end of the carriage had more of a rustic look about them. Their clothes looked fine but were worn. Some loose stitching, stray strands and the occasional button that had a slightly different colour from the rest. Their five-year-old fashions gave them away as Valley locals returning home from the cities, petitioning to the government, or mercenaries for help. These groups and others who were tourists or rest-time visitors had given Holbert a wide berth, except for one.

A man with a long, drooping moustache, flecked with grey, leaned up against the train wall of the opposite booth, one booted foot on the chair and the other wedging a tall rifle between the table and wall. The rifle was so tall it almost hit the roof of the carriage. Holbert had seen a rifle like that before on his work in the Dromeda Archipelago during the protests, where dragons were more of an issue. A sniper rifle designed to take down dragons. The barrel alone was as tall as a Frishan and likely the bullets made from Southern Steel.

The man absentmindedly played with a Morel box while staring directly at Holbert. Holbert continued to look down at his papers, letting his eyes flick over to the side several times to judge the man. Without breaking his stare, the man slowly raised his free hand to a loose salute. Holbert slowly turned his head and returned a pursed-lip smile. The man certainly seemed like a dragon hunter, it made sense he would be highly observant. Not apologetic that the hunter had noticed his spying, Holbert still shuffled around to stare out the window, not that there was much see given they were still in the ravine.

It was only another few minutes before the train emerged from the ravine and the valley descended from the tracks. This was not Holbert’s first time emerging from this ravine to see a full view of the valley. Normally there was first a thick crop of trees which then gave away to rolling hills, several townships and a river running through the centre, all backed by the unpassable Frontier Mountain Range. The thick crop of trees had been replaced with thin, charred stalks, the earth beneath them black. It looked like it was still smoking, but it was the wind picking up the sooty ash.

Holbert smelt him before he heard him, and he was conscious he hadn’t even heard him approach. If there was one thing Holbert could boast about, it was his acute sense of smell.

“Dragons fucked here,” Holbert’s new booth partner said with a voice that clearly smoked too many Morels.

“I figured you were a hunter, not a breeder?” replied Holbert with his deep, smooth voice, the voice of someone born into a certain quality of life.

“I am. Nothing easier than taking the bastards out while they’re at it.”

“Why do you think they were f– at it? Here?”

“Dragons use their flames for three things: cookin’, fightin’ and fuckin’. Else this whole place would be a wasteland. Didn’t your stories tell you that?” said the man nodding his head to the table. They had not.

“How do you know they were not cooking or fighting here?”

“Too much destruction for cookin’ and too much remaining for fightin’.”

The train emerged from what was left of the treeline and indeed the Valley was not a wasteland. In fact, most of it was exactly as Holbert remembered, except for the occasional charred patch on the side of a hill, a hole in a hedge line or two, and the flock of dragons swirling around Rind’s Peak, an individual slab of granite rising out of the middle of the valley. At rough count there were between fifty and sixty either circling in the air or perched upon the peak, around half of the total in the valley if the reports were correct.

Holbert had a passing familiarity with dragons. They weren’t uncommon along coastlines and island chains, skimming across the waves, diving beneath the ocean surface to fish on sharks or dolphins. They tended to range from blues to greens and even opalescent bronzes if you were lucky. They never grew larger than a sea skimmer and tended to have decorative frills.

Upon seeing the dragons residing on the peak, it was apparent they were different breed and Holbert wondered if his reading might be for nothing. These creatures were about twice as large as their coastal counterparts and had traded aquatic frills for horns and muscle. Rather than being the greens and blues, these ones were ranged from deep blacks to reds and maroons. Normally dragons were a pest at most, but the reports coming on over the past two seasons indicated these were a lot more aggressive and territorial. They at least looked the part.

“Huh, well I guess the huntin' will be easy.” The Dragon hunter receded from Holbert’s booth and went back to join his rifle. Holbert would have to keep a tab on that one. Dragon hunters were common enough, but sniping wave gliders was likely to be a different hunt from these more aggressive flyers.

* * *

The train arrived on time at Demoth Station, on the edge of the largest town in the Valley with a population of a mere three thousand Rovers. Holbert exited the carriage with his briefcase and made his way to where porters were unloading cargo at the rear. Coming the other way, a troop of marines were marching two abreast. Their exposed faces donned arrays of tattoos, each with a single eye-patch over their left eye and carrying their rifles in their right arms. One of them noticed Holbert eying them and gave him a broad smile, revealing numerous gold teeth. His partner elbowed him sharply and said something, causing the smile to disappear and the man refocus directly ahead. Holbert had been expecting to find soldiers here. The council had sent them to protect the townsfolk of the Valley from the draconic invasion. But protectors weren’t here to get rid of the issue and were a temporary solution at best.

The air was surprisingly warm but could be the effect of the train engine emitting its heat. The station was a concrete and brick platform with a couple of wooden shelters. Porters were unloading the luggage underneath a tarp. Just as Holbert reached his luggage, an auto-veluvian pulled up with a hum and a squeak of the brakes. Two women exited from either side and the driver shouted,

“Mister Preet?” Holbert, having found his case, strode down the steps at a leisurely pace with his luggage in tow, the wheels banging on the steps as he descended. He watched both women carefully, but they seemed unperturbed by his approach, or were very good at masking their faces. The women were dressed in three-piece suits, not unlike his, except they were both the colour of a dirty river delta. The one who had called had loose blonde hair held back with a headband, while the other was slightly larger with pinned up ginger hair and glasses.

“Mister Kellan Preet?”

“Yes. Is there room enough in the back there for my things?”

“I’m Mister Waters and this is Mister Colbyier.” They briefly clasped hands before Holbert brought his luggage around to the back and loaded it in the trunk. He was about to get into the backseat when he heard a yell from the platform.

“Hey gov’, don’t suppose you want to give us a ride?” His hunter companion stood there with the rifle muzzle a foot above the man’s head.

“I would love to, but I fear your armament would not fit.” With a shrug and a genuine smile, Holbert closed the door behind him and sat back against the cushioned seat. With the closing of the door, the outside world seemed to shut off. Mister Waters brought the auto-veluvian to a hum and dull, big band music streamed in from the radio. They circled around and drove off back down the road.

“Please turn that music off and tell me what my reports have not.” Mister Colbyier flicked the switch, and she twisted her head slightly to look at him. She was much more heavily made up than her counterpart and the angle she looked at him made it look like she was sneering as she spoke,

“I’m afraid your trip may have been in vain.”

“Oh? How so?”

“We’ve caught a matriarch, or at least one of them. She’s currently tranquilised and being held in safe condition.”

“And so how is this a waste of my time?”

“Because you’ve arrived just in time to join us in taking her back across the Frontier Mountains.”

“The unpassable Frontier Mountains?” At this Mister Waters gave the slightest of mirthless smiles but did not say anything. The dirty green suits suddenly made sense. Government officials were encouraged to wear oceanic colours, representing the heritage of Rovers. These two were likely ex-separatists back when the Valley had tried to declare its independence as a nation. They had almost succeeded with a referendum before the then First Minister had backflipped on the prospect and submitted to Rovelend authority, becoming its governor. Holbert had only skimmed the file on the events and the Council’s involvement. If these women had been involved then, they were older than they appeared. Mister Colbyier continued,

“A week ago, we discovered the mountains may not be unpassable anymore. The earth has moved a little while ago, or two seasons to be exact…”

“Approximately when the dragons first migrated here.”

“… and so the plan is to take the matriarch back through the mountains. With that, the rest of the flock, or a good portion of it should follow.”

“And what about the ones who don’t?”

“Hunters can pick them off. Dozens have come to the valley to get their trophies.” Holbert noticed the buildings around them were becoming sparser as the road took them west.

“Where are we going?” Mister Colbyier had turned back to face the front.

“We are going to the dragon matriarch.”

* * *

They didn’t speak for the rest of the trip. Holbert wasn’t interested in questioning them further and they seemed more than happy with that arrangement. Fortunately, it was only 20 minutes driving at high speed before they turned off from the melded stone onto a gravel road. The marine base was visible from the road, and it made no effort to hide its low-sitting tin structures or tents.

Also visible was the single large hauler-veluvian with a trailer attached behind it. It was the kind of trailer designed to carry a yacht with large steel spokes rising along either side. As they drew up alongside the truck, Holbert could see the type of trailer was appropriate given the red dragon strapped down on top of it was the size of a yacht. Whereas the ones he had seen flying were about twice the normal size of dragons, this one looked to be about three times as large. It had large red scales with black plating over its shoulders and back. Holbert guessed that was armour. The dragon’s wings were strapped down with it.

Holbert slipped over the right side of the auto-veluvian and wound down the window to get a closer look. He could see its golden eyes were open and pupils were slowly looking around under lazy eyelids. There was a slight smell of metal and garlic in the air. Holbert understood all dragons smelt like this as their incendiary organs continually produced phosphorus. When they weren’t breathing fire, they exhaled the phosphorus in tiny safe amounts. The dragon gave a slight cough and a small flame shot into the back of the reinforced hauler, which Holbert could now see was scorched black.

“There’s enough tranquiliser in that thing to kill three sea serpents,” said Mister Colbyier before she exited and slammed the door behind her.

“We should have just knocked it out entirely,” said Mister Waters as she put the auto-veluvian in park but left the engine running.

“You could not do that without risk of killing it and then your plan would not work. This is clearly a different species, and you cannot be sure of the right dosage.” He could tell Mister Waters didn’t appreciate his response, but she did a good job of hiding it. Despite their feelings on the Rovelend council, they knew how to navigate government.

“Just stay here, we should be setting off in a few moments.” Holbert watched the marines running around and preparing, jumping into their own armoured vehicles, adjusting their eye patches, lock and loading so to speak. Holbert noticed the vehicles all were absent of rooves, which didn’t seem overly smart given why the marines were here.

Mister Waters was right, and the hauler set off within moments while the rest of the auto-veluvians followed close behind. Mister Colbyier joined them back in the car with a radio and they too set off after the convoy back towards the main road, this time with the windows down. They could still hear the constant chatter between the marines coming in through the radio.

Driving towards the Frontier Mountains, Holbert couldn’t help noticing how they rose out of seemingly flat countryside like a vertical wall, disappearing into clouds at the peaks. They were behind the dragon and the acrid, garlic scent wafted into the auto.

“So, a pass opened up in the mountains a few seasons ago the dragons came out of this pass?” asked Holbert.

“Eye-witnesses of nearby settlers indicate as much,” responded Mister Colbyier.

“What did the seismographs read from that time.”

“Nothing. Based on the footage we’ve seen, it’s possible the roof of a large cave system collapsed creating a gap in the mountains.”

“That would still read on a seismograph.” Holbert was starting to feel uneasy as they continued. He could see the dragon’s tail ahead of him flicking sharply as it hung off the back of the trailer. With this, a different smell came from ahead, this time more sulphuric. Mister Colbyier laughed.

“Smells like madame there ate a bad auroch.”

He looked out the windows to see small farmsteads, ranches and settlements nesting across the plans. The valley was more of a downward ramp that run directly into the Frontier Mountains, with prime farming real-estate being as close as possible to the mountains due to the flat land.

“Why have these people stayed here if there are dragons around the mountains? Seems like their livestock would be a great food source.” This time it was Mister Waters who responded.

“There are no dragons this close to the mountain range. They all moved out into the valley proper.” Holbert stopped leaning against the side and stiffened as he sat up.

“Not one dragon has come back this way?”

“Nope, life is too good for them out in the valley it seems.” Now the smell of sulphur was strong, intense even as Mister Colbyier clasped her hand to her nose and wound her window up. Holbert recalled the last paper he had been reading on emotional biochemistry.

“Stop everything!” said Holbert firmly.

“Mister Pre—" started Waters.

“Get them on the radio and stop driving. That dragon is beyond terrified.” Mister Waters started to slow down as the rest of the convoy carried on, some of the vehicles passing either side of them. Mister Colbyier reached for her radio and pressed in the button.

“Brigandine three, we have an—” She didn’t finish before the dragon strapped to the trailer driving away from them burst from her restraints and spread her wings out, sending one of the steel struts into an auto, sending it flying off the road. The hauler started to slow as the dragon stood up tall and breathed bright, white fire onto the hauler’s cabin. In three seconds, the front of the cabin was reduced to a bubbling metallic pool on the ground. Holbert felt himself immediately sweating from the heat several hundred feet away. The dragon’s head swivelled around rapidly, it’s pupils tiny against wide, yellow terrified eyes.